Rites of Passage
by Rigel Lake
Summary: Aldebaran Lake, Slytherin 6th year. Solarian Lake, Gryffindor 6th year. Rigel Lake, Ravenclaw 4th year. Three siblings. One story to tell.
1. The Hogwarts Express

_**Disclaimer; The Harry Potter series is owned by J. K. Rowling, but Solarian, Aldebaran, and Rigel Lake (The OC's) all belong to me.**_

_Mutterings. Mutterings and curses._

The blonde-haired girl woke up as her head rebounded on the back of her seat. She was in the Hogwarts Express.

Across from her, a slightly smaller, brown-headed boy, looking around the age of thirteen or fourteen, was seated flat against his own seat. He was munching on what seemed to be half a Chocolate Frog; by that, the girl knew the trolley had gone. Her stomach rumbled softly, echoing her hunger.

"Oi, did you get anything for me?", she moaned witheringly. The boy nodded, and pointed to a Cauldron Cake sitting in the corner of the slightly rumbling table. As though it was in any danger of falling off soon, the girl quickly leaped up, grabbed it, and moved it closer to her edge, wondering slightly if she had a utensil to consume the pastry with.

Bemused, the boy snickered softly, and as though he had read her mind, pointed at the side of it, where she found a spoon affixed to it. Pulling it off, she dove into the Cake hungrily.

"Aldebaran," he stated, using the tone and word he used when jocular, "can you please stop eating like that? You are disturbing our neighbors." And indeed, he was pointing to a face which, through the window, Aldebaran could distinguish of that being Solarian, what with the distinctive hair colour so similar to her own.

She nodded.

Solarian knocked twice, then opened the glass-paned door and walked in. A prefect's badge notated his status as he took his place next to the female. "Greetings, Rigel, Aldebaran," holding a hand out in turn. "I hope you haven't died yet, or else I'd be speaking to ghosts."

[Live. Laugh. Learn.]

The old train screeched to a stop. Solarian had already gone back to the prefect's cabin, and Aldebaran had finished her Cake. Rigel had rationed the rest of the candy he had hoarded, such as that he still had a numerous amount of Every Flavour Beans and two Licorice Wands, one of them being gnawed on.

"If you eat too much candy," Al warned, "you will get sick and _die_." Rigel could not help but snort, although it quickly stopped after the female had pulled out her wand and Vanished the black treat.

"What was that for?!", the 4th year demanded of her.

"You snorted," she sniffed. "Are you a cow?"

"No, but--"

**"Everyone off!"**

The driver had spoken. Shooting rude glares at each other, they quickly divided what remained of the candy between themselves and got off, headed to the Great Hall for the usual feast.

_**I know it was short. Deal with it.**_


	2. A Proverbial Headache

**If anyone's wondering about the time period, perchance, I was assuming something around 30 years after the Second Wizarding War; all the Potter children would have graduated from Hogwarts.**

As the three siblings walked towards Hogwarts from their stop, they heard the vague sound of the current Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Hagrid, ordering all of the first years to come to him. They traded snorts and glances, then separated.

[Live. Laugh. Learn.]

Rigel progressed through the crowd of people over to what he vaguely remembered as the Ravenclaw table. It was already nearly half-filled, and the sound of utensils being moved, platters being tapped, and glasses being poked filled the air expectantly. Sitting himself down in the middle of a rather large void, he could not help but eavesdrop upon the entire mass of people talking all around him.

"It's none of your business!", Rigel heard a feminine voice shriek.

"Give me back my spork!"

"Go stick your quill up your arse!"

"Damn it!"

Snorting slightly, the boy turned his attention to the glass being charmed sixteen feet to his right. It was now scintillating and releasing a violent noise reminiscent of one beating up a cat with a large broom. He took a furtive glance towards the teacher's table; none of them seemed to have spotted anything amiss, and were apparently chatting about something involving dramatic hand movements. Rigel was given the uncomfortable idea that even if a proverbial riot plowed before them they would continue talking amongst themselves. Just as he reached that conclusion, however---

"If all would kindly pay attention?"

He looked up to the Headmaster's or Headmistress' platform, expecting to see the form of Professor McGonagall up there, but instead found a rather large man. Rigel blinked.

"There has been a change this year," the man warbled in a low, song-like voice. "Professor McGonagall has retired to spend more time with her remaining posessions. As such, I, Professor Charles Sariqualnigo-", a few chuckles came forth from the first-years, which were quickly hushed up,"-- will be your new Headmaster. Professor Rubeus Hagrid will be our deputy Headmaster, as well as the Gryffindor Head of House. Now, for the Sorting--"

The old Sorting Hat flew out of absolutely nowhere and started up an impromptu song:

"What may be wrong may be right

What may be live is a wight

Yet what is life without excitement?

Everyone needs a bit of brightment.

But now I sing of my old oath

To divide enemies, friends, and oafs

Now come, and I will spin a story

Of the four houses and all their glory.

Gryffindor isn't for the meek

Nor is it a place for the weak.

Their courage and their heart

Are what set them all apart.

Hufflepuff holds the just

Never is power much of a lust.

For those who treasure the journey

You'll really not have to worry.

Is Ravenclaw your ambition?

Their wit is ammunition.

Be sharp of mind and quick of spirit;

You'll never find one more lyric.

Does Slytherin suit your ideals?

You surely must have zeal.

For all is justified by the ends

At the finish we'll make amends."

Rigel blinked at its eloquent manner, and then joined in the already-loud applause, as per usual. It died down as the Headmaster called for silence with a quick 'stop-sign' signal. The first-years were lined up, and marshalled up to the stool-- Professor Sariqualnigo called out a name.

**"Abenddis, Clara."**

Clara was thusly sorted into Ravenclaw, and more clapping of hands was heard, mostly from his own table. Looking flushed, she joined them, to the right of Rigel.

The rest of the Sorting passed just as quickly, and with a shout of **"Zulian, Cyrus,"** being sorted into Gryffindor, it ended. Rigel waited patiently, as did all except for the Gryffindor table, which persisted cheering until the sort of glare that stung passed from the Potions teacher, Professor Slughorn, also incidentally the Slytherin Head of House. The Headmaster started to speak.

"Now, as you all know, there is to normally be a speech before the Great Hall's normal feasts. However, in this case we have nothing to say. Please keep curfew, which is at twelve P.M. Thank you!"

The boy stared blankly for a few moments, expecting it to be some colossal joke. He slowly panned his vision, and found that he was not the only one surprised; at the Slytherin table he saw Aldebaran still apparently waiting, and Solarian just looking shocked. Choking back a soft laugh at the latter's agape mug, Rigel turned around to find food upon the plates and liquids within the drinks. Clara was still next to him, and another male had joined him to his left, whom he vaguely remembered was addressed as 'Anderson, Isaac.' He helped himself to some pumpkin juice and a small piece of steak heartily.


	3. Trouble In Paradise

Solarian, after gaping like a fish at the Sorting Hat's new song and the particularly short speech given, had returned to eating. He helped himself to a piece of treacle tart.

"So, as I was saying," a fourth-year right next to him explained to another across the Gryffindor table, "I was planning on..."

Sol yawned softly, losing track of the coversation he had been so tactfully eavesdropping on. It was getting late, according to his biological clock, and he knew that the teachers would most likely have misgivings about letting him nap in class, even if he was related to one of the top fifth-year students.

He glanced all around, making sure Aldebaran and Rigel were still in the Great Hall, then excused himself from the table and began to walk towards the Gryffindor common room. With a slight mutter of, _Poffles_, the male walked in through the portrat hole and fell into an armchair facing the fireplace, which was already crackling steadily.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps reached Solarian's ears. He looked to the left and right, vaguely expecting Al to come out of nowhere and hit him with one of her jinxes, and found... the incoming sight of a form. The teenager sighed, putting away his wand, and jerked his head downwards in acknowledgement of the person, then turned back to watching the fire.

He found himself thinking to himself as he watched the blooming flames. _This is my last year here_, he noted to himself, somewhat sleepily. _And this is my N.E.W.T. year... I wonder how Aldebaran's faring..._

_And Rigel's got his O.W.L.'s..._

His drowsy half-sleep was rudely interrupted by the feel of a light finger upon his shoulder. Immediately Solarian jumped out of his seat, nearly barreling into the fire in his distress. "Wh-what's going on," he feebly muttered, before shaking himself rather like a dog drenched with water. After his customary awakening ceremony, the male looked backwards, slightly warily, and was not at all surprised to find a person seated within the armchair he had so recently deserted.

Of course, he had not expected the person to be a female, and looking to be a fifth-year.

_Like Rigel_, he thought sourly. _And just as rude!_

"Thank you for taking my seat," Solarian threw at her coldly, taking out his wand.

"You're quite welcome," she countered firmly. Sol noted that she, too, had brandished her own magic-stick.

"Witty, I'll give you that," he steamed under his breath, before speaking in a louder, somewhat metallic tone. "If you are to deprive me of my seat, I would prefer you give your name."

"Well," the girl answered again, now in a sickeningly sweet tone that dripped of honeyed sarcasm, "if you're so in want of my name, I suppose you should give me yours!"

"Don't get smart with me, girl," Solarian hissed, taking a threatening step forwards. "I'm as intelligent as my siblings!"

This time she uttered a grim laugh. Solarian snapped.

He directly pointed his wand at the girl and thought quickly,_ Densaugeo!_ The girl's eyes widened, and her jaws were opened as her front teeth began to enlarge unattractively. They grew until they were the size of golf balls, tennis balls, telephones...

"Tarantallegra!", she squealed, as her incisors started to rival the size of large clocks, and her head started to enlarge. Utterly unprepared for her riposte, Solarian began to dance uncontrollably. He readied himself for a Shield Charm as she seemed to be ready to strike anew---

**"Both o' ye! Detentio'!"**

It was the familiar sound of Hagrid. Bewildered, both students watched as the half-giant raised up his umbrella and began to systematically remove the spells the pair had placed upon each other, cursing under his breath as he did so. As Solarian began to stop dancing, he turned back to glare at the girl, who had already started to leer at him unsettlingly.

She rather reminded him of Aldebaran and Rigel mixed together.

_**Oh dear. I seem to have mixed up my BBCODE with, well, this document. Epic facebar, I say...**_


	4. Aldebaran and the Cliché Soap Opera

Aldebaran Lake had, amazingly, managed to keep away from creating ruckuses at the Great Hall feast, contrary to what most people expected of her, being Solarian's twin.

That didn't mean that she couldn't stir up a boil in the Slytherin common room, which indeed was buzzing like a cauldron, to use the term.

As she entered into the room of titanic proportions, she found herself accosted by wave after wave of cackling people. She blinked at her new popularity; none of the Slytherins had looked that insane when she had seen them upon the Hogwarts Express...

**"Oi, Lydia, let me get a good look--"**

**"Al! Al, good to see y--"**

**"We were waiting for you!"  
**

Perhaps all the females had synchronised 'times of the month' and the males were being peculiarly accommodating?

**"Ha!"**

Aldebaran shuddered and waded through the welcoming committee before locating one of the armchairs that was not occupied.

Which put her in plain view of what she realised was the reason for the collective mirth.

One of the second-year Slytherins, the only one she knew was a Mudblood, was being dangled by some invisible force by his left ankle, resulting in him squealing and flailing about in mid-air, to no avail.

**"Please, somebody, get me down from he--"**

The rest of his squeakings were drowned out by a flurry of giggles and snorts; surrounding him was an entire troupe of fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh-years, all of whom she also knew were purebloods.

From the looks of it, they were playing what was termed a 'simple joke.'

What was a joke to them was something serious to her.

One of the group ringing him separated and ambled over with a high stride over to Al. She could barely recognise him as Jason Bridgitson, one of the seventh-years. She had used to like him in her second year, that was all...

**"Al, why don't you join us? I mean, teaching this Mudblood a lesson is pretty fun,"** he inquired of her cheerfully with a slight simper, as though asking if there were cookies to be had.

All activity in the room ceased then, except for the Muggle-born's mid-air ministrations; **"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"**

Despite herself, Al could feel sweat on her back, and started to bite her lip. She couldn't help torture the downtrodden... but she had to.

Every eye in the room was on her. She could feel that as well.

Suddenly, she ricocheted out of her seat, nearly smashing into Jason. His eyes went wide as she wheeled around and dashed through the door, out of the Slytherin common room, and out of sight, all the way screaming an eloquent**, "Sorry, lavatory!"**

**

* * *

**

Five minutes later, she found herself in one of the bathrooms. She couldn't remember which one she had dashed into, but she did remember scaring off Moaning Myrtle, who was (or rather, had been) inhabiting it.

Her eyes were damp, but no tears fell; she couldn't weep for a Mudblood. She wouldn't.

Her thoughts strayed suddenly to her siblings...

_I hope you're having a better return to Hogwarts than I am._


End file.
